


Domesticity

by MajesticMoments



Series: Repercussions [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 'i love you', Post-ILY, Post-TFP, Sequal/Companion to Technicalities & Daytrip, Sherlock-centric, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9528575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajesticMoments/pseuds/MajesticMoments
Summary: It was nauseating. Realizing the extent of the surveillance throughout Molly's home. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t vomited. [Sequel to Technicalities, Companion to Daytrip, Post-'i love you', Sherlolly, Sherlock Centric]





	

**Author's Note:**

> So... I think I'm done with series. This is a sequel to Technicalities and a companion piece to the Molly centric story, Daytrip. I think you can still read as a standalone, but it would help to at least read Daytrip first. I put these three into a series titled "Repercussions." 
> 
> Idk, it may seem out of character. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But there are a lot of implications that I think Sherlock would come to find troubling from TFP. And I cover some of that in this fic. 
> 
> I still have lots of other TFP/Post-TFP thoughts so expect more....
> 
> Hmm... I guess that's it. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts please :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the scenes referenced to. They belong to ACD & BBC Sherlock.

He found each of them. Each camera inside of her flat. It surprised him how many there were. He could feel his gut plummet as he disabled each one. One after the other. Room after room. It was nauseating. Realizing the extent of the surveillance throughout Molly's home.  
  
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t vomited.  
  
It wasn’t a matter of how many, but _how long_. He refused to dwell on that fact. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.  
  
But his mind kept drifting back.  
  
It was no wonder Molly was used as leverage. If the cameras had been there as long as he believed…  
  
He knew before he came, she would be gone. It was just a suspicion. Molly would know something was amiss. Then she would leave via a contingency plan, a remnant from the time of the Fall. Confirmed by Mycroft soon after, when he mentioned that one of the get away cars had been taken. No doubt, by Molly. Sherlock was glad those resources were still there. Ready for her disposal.  
  
But they wouldn’t know where she went. Mycroft had ensured that the cars wouldn’t be tracked. Even by them. A safety measure. It would be a day before she was expected to make contact.  
  
_If_ she chose to make contact.  
  
And right now, he wasn’t sure she’d even check-in. _Worry_ was something new, different. But it didn’t seem to convey what he felt.  
  
But another part of him hoped. Hope _was_ a fruitless endeavor, but he had found himself hoping she would be home when he got here. She wasn't.  
  
In a way, it was like the answer to an unspoken prayer, to find that she had left. He didn’t know what to say to her. Wouldn’t know how to start. And he was relieved she wasn’t here as he located every single device. Each device that had watched her.  
  
That had watched them.  
  
He told himself the flat was clear. He was thorough in his search. Certain of it. But that didn’t keep him from checking. Over and over. A compulsion would take hold of him after he had just checked, to check again. And again. And again. It was relentless.  
  
What should have taken him less than fifteen minutes, he had spent over five hours doing.  
  
He had to force himself to stop, to keep himself from starting the process over.

His breathing so heavy, he felt like he’d pass out. He braced himself against the hallway wall. Sliding down. It was an hour before he realized he had been crying.  
  
Everything was so foreign. So different. Doubt a rare thing. But he doubted anything would go back to what they were before. Eurus had changed everything. More than he realized.  
  
It was childish perhaps. Putting the cup of little devices in the microwave. A precaution. He was sure they wouldn’t transmit. He disabled every single one. But closing the cabinet door on the appliance, out of sight, brought a bit of comfort. But just a little.  
  
He would have destroyed them. Gotten rid of them. But he needed to show them to her first. So that she knew.  
  
He didn’t want to touch anything after. He felt… _tainted_. Just from touching the cameras. He didn’t want to touch anything else in the flat.  
  
So he found himself scrubbing his fingers endlessly in the shower.  
  
Eventually he changed into his spare clothes. It didn’t help to relax him though.  
  
It was nearing 8 am. And still no call. No text. Still no check in. He hadn’t slept.  And the worry hadn’t abated.  
  
Out in the kitchen, it looked just as it had when they had called.  
  
_‘I love you’_  
  
The cutting board out. The squeezed lemon on the counter. The cup still filled with tea. Her phone left behind.  
  
It surprised him that she had left everything as it was. Hadn’t cleaned up. It was a way of telling him the state she was in when she left. He told her once, she was an obsessive compulsive. She didn’t believe him.  
  
He always found himself doing things here he normally didn’t do. Like feeding Toby fresh kibble. Taking out the trash. Connecting her phone to the charger on her desk. He was scrubbing her mug clean, the knife and cutting board already laying out to dry, when he received a text alert from John. He ignored it.  
  
John would only ask questions he didn’t have answers for.  
  
His focus now on the phone. He thought about calling her. But he was frightened. He could feel his skin flush. The sinking feeling back in his stomach. If he called, he was afraid she wouldn’t pick up. He was scared yesterday. He’s was still scared today.  
  
His finger hovered over the call button. Her phone number spaced out over the screen.  
  
_Sentiment_.  
  
Its funny how transparent things became in hindsight. It was glaringly obvious.  
  
He only had six contacts in his phone and only one lacked an associated name.  
  
Her number saved. But he never put a contact name to her. Electing to only re-enter the number in place of her name.    
  
Of everyone on his contact list. John. Mycroft. Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson. Even Adler. They each had their name attached. Save for Adler, for reasons that she was presumably dead. Instead, there was a pseudonym in place of her real identity.  
  
But Molly’s. Nothing. Nothing but the number. He didn’t even have their text conversations saved. He deleted every one. Yet he could still pull all of it from memory. A subconscious act, he realizes.  
  
Cases normally kept him busy. Occupying his mind. But he needed to wait. Needed to wait for her to come home. And needed to keep his mind occupied.  
  
_‘I love you’_  
  
It’s midmorning when he runs out of things to do. He only kept cleaning to keep his thoughts at bay. To keep himself from thinking too much. An odd distraction compared to his normal habits.  
  
But its what he had. And now there wasn’t even that.  
  
He never used the term _surreal_.  
  
To him, it was just a word to describe the unfathomable moments, beyond the grasp of a common man’s mind. A way to describe the misunderstood events, the price for losing one’s focus because one is out of touch with reality.    
  
But it was the only word he could come up with. Obviously his mental faculties had taken a toll.

It was all very disorienting. Drugs, he reasoned, was similar to this experience, but at least that was at his own volition, under his own terms. His choice. This was different.  
  
It was violating. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. Thinking back to the cameras again.  
  
_Vivisection_.  
  
No matter how much he tried to avoid _sentiment_ … it always came roaring back. And this time, the consequences had been dire.  
  
It could have been worse.  
  
Why couldn’t Eurus have phoned up instead, “ _Hey, long lost bro. Remember me? I need your help._ ”  
  
Family was always difficult. And reality was rarely so simple.  
  
_Surreal_.  
  
Its how he felt now. As he sat in the chair in the bedroom. The cameras sitting next to him on the table. He brought it out. As a reminder. He tried not to look at it.  
  
He hadn’t realized how dark it had become. Yesterday. After the phone call. After Mycroft. After John. He had found himself in the dark. In a room full of clues. Inside of a makeshift box. Alone.  
  
Then the walls came down.  
  
And he was back. Back to reality. A reality where he is stuck in a puzzle he couldn’t wake from. Facing a game that had haunted him since childhood. It always came back to that.   
  
_‘I that am lost. Oh, who will find me?’_  
  
Unsolvable.  
  
_Love a vicious motivator._ You’ll do anything.  
  
_If its true. Just say it anyway._  
  
_Molly had always been there for him. And he couldn't reciprocate._  
  
_You bastard._  
  
_What’s going to kill you? You._  
  
He heard the front door open. Its what brought him back.  
  
He felt it again. He was shaking. His pulse elevated. His breathing increased. He tried to slow it down. He needed to. She was coming. But he hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say. How to explain the cameras. How to explain yesterday. The phone call. The ‘i love you’.  
  
Every second waiting for her to walk through the door, he couldn’t breathe. Each second threatening. He was back to yesterday.  
  
_Final 30 seconds._  
  
How could he say something when he had no more breath in him.  
  
All day. He had found himself lost in those moments, stuck between the seconds. Disbelieving he had the strength to say something he barely understood as true. Forced to play a hand he didn’t have the cards for. Waiting for her to reply. Waiting…  
  
And then she was at the door. He didn’t look at her. He was just trying to breathe again. It was dark. Maybe she wouldn’t see.  
  
But she always saw.  
  
She knew he’d be here. That he’d be here waiting. Waiting for her. That she’d be expecting him here.  
  
_She taught me to be the man she already thought I was._  
  
And she was still waiting. Patiently. Waiting for him to say something. Anything. Waiting for him to calm his nerves. Waiting for him to be ready.  
  
He heard himself speak before he realized he had anything to say. “I found them all. All the cameras.”  
  
He couldn’t look at her.  
  
_The words engraved on a coffin is chosen by the loved one of the deceased._  
  
She was alive. And he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.  
  
_I’ll burn the heart out of you._  
  
Sitting in the chair still, looking out the window. He could see a couple outside on the sidewalk, across the street, likely returning from a night out.  
  
_Sentiment_.  
  
He dripped of it.  
  
_Victor Trevor._  
  
_Redbeard._  
  
_‘I love you.’_  
  
“Sherlock…” He heard her voice. He looked to her immediately. She always brought him back. But now. He could see. She was tired. Her face pale. She was worried about him. Even after what he did to her. After everything and she still worried for him.  
  
_Do something while there’s still a chance. Because that chance doesn’t last forever. It’s gone before you know it._  
  
“I am sorry, Molly. So sorry.” He barely whispered the last words. He swallowed thickly. His mouth dry.  
  
She still didn’t say anything. He wanted to hold her. But he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcome. After all, he was in her house. In her bedroom. She had every right, every prerogative to tell him to leave. He always overstayed his welcome. And maybe he had pushed her too far this time.  
  
Instead, she moved to her bed. Told him she needed a moment. So he grabbed the cup. His phone. And moved towards the door.  
  
He thought better of it. But before he could stop himself, he had pressed his lips to her forehead. He could feel her shaking. He was reluctant to leave. Even if for a moment.  
  
He walked out, noticing a text from Mycroft. To notify Sherlock of her return and that Mycroft would be at her door soon, with a team to search the place for the cameras. Perhaps they had thought it would be an intrusion to come in, unwelcome while she was out of the city. Electing to wait until her return.  
  
But Mycroft didn’t know Sherlock had been here since last night.  
  
So he rushed down the stairs. Opening the door before the doorbell rang. Catching Mycroft, arms outstretched, ready to push the button, looking surprised as Sherlock stood in the doorway.  
  
This was different.  
  
Answering the door to a house that wasn’t his. Dressed for comfort in a home other than his own.  
  
Made plain to see. Just like yesterday.  
  
Sherlock swallowed. Handing the cup of cameras over to Mycroft. Sherlock didn’t look at him. His gaze averted a little to the left.  
  
“Thank you. Mycroft.” Looking him in the eye, briefly. Nodding his head, then closing the door.  
  
Slowly he made his way back to the bedroom. He had closed the door when he left her. And now it stood slightly ajar.  
  
It was Molly’s way of telling him it was okay.  
  
He opened it slowly, knowing it would creak. Quietly, he slid into bed. He tried not to second guess himself as he brought himself closer to her. Wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him.  
  
She was cold to the touch. Shivering. Shaking. She was very tense.  
  
He tried not to think of the coffin. Of explosives. Of games. Of friends from a far away past.  
  
His chaotic nerves had kept him on his toes for the past day. Waiting had been a torment. Stuck in a whirlwind of yesterday.  
  
But this was today.  This was now. She was alive. And he was here. Breathing her in. She smelled of the sea.  
  
Slowly, he petered out his breathing. Silently repeating what he had thought would be difficult. But found to be incredibly easy. He could feel her relaxing. The tension going away, her shivering finally stopping.  
  
Sleep came quickly after that.  
  
Of course he loved her. She was home, _his_ home. He just wished it hadn’t taken him this long to realize.


End file.
